


Waste

by Lazy Blue (Meh_tis)



Series: I'll pretend to see what you see [4]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Pining, Self-Sacrifice, Thriller Bark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:33:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23973829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meh_tis/pseuds/Lazy%20Blue
Summary: Zoro cannot die.No, no, no.NO.He has to keep on living and become the best swordsman in the world. Luffy needs him. The Strawhats need him. And Sanji- well, Sanji is going to prove Zoro’s not the only one who can protect their crew.orWhat is going on in Sanji's head when he asks Kuma to take his life instead of Zoro's.
Relationships: Roronoa Zoro/Vinsmoke Sanji
Series: I'll pretend to see what you see [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1184135
Comments: 9
Kudos: 99





	Waste

**Author's Note:**

> Day 6 of Zosan Week 2018 - Prompt: Sacrifice

There are many things Sanji should be worried about. His captain has been beaten bloody and is lying unconscious on the ground, probably dying. His crew his injured and scattered, and he himself is in no better shape: his best suit ruined, barely able to stand.  
Still, the only thing he’s aware of is the stupid mosshead standing ahead of him. Zoro is alone in front of the worst threat the Strawhats have ever faced: Kuma’s face doesn’t display any emotion, as though he’s really an inanimate weapon with only the vague appearance of a man.

Meanwhile, Sanji perfectly recognizes the look of grim determination on the swordsman’s face. It’s the same one he’d seen him wear when their paths first crossed, all the way back to the Baratie: the look of a man prepared to die.  
Sanji had loathed it back then: how could someone be so stupid to die for a dream?  
He hates it even more now. How can Zoro be so stupid to die before achieving that impossible dream of his?

Sanji’s thoughts are barely coherent at this point, but his brain keeps screaming something at him: Zoro cannot die.  
No, no, no.  
NO.  
He has to keep on living and become the best swordsman in the world. Luffy needs him. The Strawhats need him. And Sanji- well, Sanji is going to prove Zoro’s not the only one who can protect their crew.

“Hold it, hold it, you bastard! What will happen if you die? What about your ambition, idiot?”

If a sacrifice has to be made, it should be a sensible one after all. Luffy can find another cook anywhere – there’s plenty to chose from in the sea. Sanji’s dream was never the most important one, and he’s pretty sure there are some snot-nosed brats somewhere, dreaming of finding the All Blue one day. He takes a moment to wish them good luck, wherever they are. He sends a mental apology to Zeff, but if the old bastard could entrust his own most cherished dream to a whiny kid, so can he.

“You…!” Zoro’s expression is priceless. In any other occasion, Sanji would bask in his shock, but he knows he has to be quick. He puts on his bravest front and gathers the his last scraps of strength, to maintain at least a sliver of dignity as he wobbles in front of Kuma.

“Hey, big guy!”

“Oi!” he hears Zoro’s disbelieving voice. He ignores it. His trembling body is a flimsy barrier at best, Sanji’s painfully aware of it, but his determination will be enough to carry out this final task. It won’t be long after all. He has to keep Kuma’s attention, divert it from other targets. He has to convince him that he’s a worthy opponent.  
Words come out so easily. A foolish ask for hurt.

“Forget this mosshead swordsman… take my life instead!”

Sanji’s been so useless in protecting his friends. He was stupid, and weak; but he is going to make it right, even if it means losing everything he has. All his nakamas. Zoro.

His skills are worth nothing in this situation, so the last thing he can do, the only thing he can do to give his life a lasting meaning is to put himself between those he loves and this certain doom. If he only has his future to offer, he will give it away gladly to protect them.  
He has been given so many second chances that it seems like a long overdue reckoning, in a way, that he must die now.

“The marines are still taking me lightly, but… before long, the one who’s bound to become the most dangerous person in the crew is… me, Black-Leg Sanji!”

He will be a problem sooner or later. For his past, if not for his abilities. He can almost believe to be a serious threat himself.

But Kuma is silent. Even in his eerie calmness, Sanji can feel that he’s evaluating him. The possibility of being deemed not worthy enough hangs heavy in the air. It can’t happen, not this time.

Sanji knows he’s worthless. His family made sure he perfectly understood that.  
But he had his mother’s smile. And Zeff’s. And Luffy’s.

He’s become a decent cook. He is a pretty strong fighter, the only one left standing besides Zoro. Maybe, if he’d had enough time, he could’ve become the man Luffy had seen in him when he asked him to join his crew. It has to mean something, that the future Pirate King had seen him and wanted him by his side. It has to.

“What’re you waiting for?”

Pirates don’t get happy endings. Sanji knew when he’d chosen this life. But he couldn’t have foreseen the incredible swordsman that had shaken him to the core, given him back his almost abandoned dream, sparked the fire still running hot in his veins.

“Take my life… instead of his.”

They don’t say, never say it. From the looks of it they never will. But it was there, nonetheless. It’s the reason he’s still upright.  
In the way they touched, Sanji thinks: their energies, melding into something that felt like tension, but ran deeper, stronger, until it reached his core, all the way down. It left him eviscerated, every time, with a full, sweet, rich aftertaste on his tongue. Probably his favorite ever. Sanji tries to recall it, but all he can taste is blood and dust.

They never said it, but Sanji’s pretty sure he saw the same tension in Zoro every time; his whole body rippling with it, trembling with it, covered in it like the layer of sweat that formed on him when Sanji touched him, pushed him, digging his fingers down in hard flesh, breathing him in, getting close, closer, it was never close enough.  
And his expression, well… Sanji had never seen that face in any other occasion.

Those sleepless nights when they fell into each other, tearing their shirts apart, growling like rabid dogs as their teeth sunk in, so wrapped up in themselves that Sanji couldn’t tell their bodies apart. In the slanted morning light from the porthole, Zoro’s gaze on him like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing, and Sanji couldn’t quite believe him either, so he closed his eyes and opened his mouth, losing himself in salty skin and steady breaths.

They never talked, because falling on the familiar pattern of “stupid mosshead” and “curly brow” was just repeating practiced moves, and hurling insults was easier even when they came out breathless, groaned in the curve of the other’s neck, lost in the welcoming darkness of the ship.

Sanji wonders if they could have talked, sometimes.  
(“How was your life before? Before us, before the Strawhats? Do you think our paths were destined to cross, sooner or later?”)  
But then again, Sanji had not much to offer, and Zoro probably wouldn’t have cared either way.

  
It was better like this. This way, he could be a little more selfish. He could take the wordless looks Zoro gave him, the intensity of them, and the heath of his rough hands trailing slowly down Sanji’s hips. It was a kind of focus neither enemies nor one-time lovers got, Sanji was aware, and he drank it in with leisure, he savored it on his palate: thick and heavy, like the kisses which followed.

“I’m prepared to exchange my life for his.”

Sanji wishes, with whatever is left of him, that he could turn. That he could rest his eyes on Zoro’s face one last time. His gaze would find the swordsman’s with no uncertainty, like every other time they’ve faced each other. Sanji has read things there: lust- the easiest to spot, pupil-blown and burning. And then competitiveness, annoyance, even pride sometimes. Every time he caught Zoro’s grin aimed at him during a fight Sanji could feel his chest expand and constrict at the same time. But now, even if he could look at Zoro, he thinks he wouldn’t understand what he saw. Maybe reproach. Disappointment.  
Or it would be like the rare occasions when, looking into those steely eyes, he was reminded of staring at the horizon over the sea for too long: the sensation of being too small, under the scrutiny of a world too big to comprehend. But so, incredibly free.

He’d never really been his, had he?

Sanji’d had his attention and his body for a while, and he’d given him the same, so as far as he was concerned they were even.  
But he was never his, and that’s the most cruel thing of all; knowing that even if he didn’t have to die now, he could never have what he craved the most.  
If Sanji had been honest enough to acknowledge his feelings, and brave enough to word them, what good would it have been anyways? If, for a twisted turn of fate, Zoro could’ve returned his affection, what then? Their fire would have burned too bright, until it burned down, until only ashes were left behind. And those ruins afterwards, Sanji wouldn’t have been able to bear them.

The thing is, Sanji is about to die. Without the title of greatest chef in the world, without ever seeing the All Blue. And he wishes, just for a moment, that he’d been more selfish: that he’d held on tighter, that he’d uttered those words that always threatened to spill out in the midst of their embrace, and never made past his lips.

  
Honesty is not his forte, apparently, and he doesn’t have use for regret; he won’t be able to give form to this pointless emotion that is killing him faster than Kuma is. Sanji’ll never call Zoro his, and he’s at peace with that, always was.

But still, his foolish, battered heart, pumping life through him even now, asks for a moment more; just a moment would be fine, to utter those words that were never meant to be said out loud and weave fingers through soft green hair. It would be enough, to finally face the truth he’d denied himself for so long. Hell, Sanji wouldn’t even care for Zoro’s response. It would be better, not knowing.  
Instead, he’s going to take this to the grave with him. He’s not going to put this burden on Zoro’s shoulders just because he’s selfish.

“The flower of my glorious death shall bloom on this spot!”

Sanji can feel his every breath. It hurts. Bruised ribs and scorched feet cry out in pain, a cacophony drowning in the blood that rushes to his ears. He can sense Zoro too, kneeling behind him. His tension is tangible, but Sanji’s resolution doesn’t waver, even as his body does.  
And his body, this stupid frail thing of maimed flesh and broken bones, wants nothing more than to drag itself to Zoro and take him into worn out arms. It feels the desperate need to run calloused hands over tan features one last time, gently. It wants to lap up labored breaths, so very similar to those they shared in their moments of passion, and isn’t it ironic to think of that in this situation?

But Kuma is still silent, watchful, and Sanji can’t close the distance, can’t feel Zoro’s warmth.  
It takes him any energy he has left to keep on standing. He inhales. He exhales. Wave after wave of searing pain. If only… if only he could-

“Oi, make sure to… say goodbye to everyone for me. Tell them I’m sorry, but they’ll have to look for a new cook.”

There is no good way to say goodbye. This will have to do. Zoro’ll understand. He will tell the others, he will-

Sanji feels the body heath just before the blow from the hilt, and for a moment he is truly, indescribably happy, because Zoro is here.  
He is here, and he shouldn’t be.

Agony blooms from Sanji’s side like a treacherous flower, sapping him of every last drop of strength. He sways dangerously as he turns on himself, limbs lead-heavy. His hand lands on a strong shoulder, and it almost burns under his palm.  
He can look into Zoro’s eyes, like he wished. There’s steel in them, steel in Zoro’s fist. Sanji doesn’t understand. The pain is everywhere, it’s going to crack him open from the inside.  
“You-” he grits out. Surprise turns to the acidic taste of betrayal, flooding Sanji’s mouth, choking him.

Zoro is still, silent. Sanji tries to hold on, to fight the darkness creeping at the edge of his vision. He isn’t able to grasp anything; he helplessly takes in the warmth under his fingers as they slide along Zoro’s tanned arm. Everything he longed for just a few moments ago; only now Zoro is going to die in his place. He is going to die a useless, stupid death and Sanji can’t stop him. He is feverish, exhausted.

“What did you do?” he wants to ask. His legs give out from under him.  
“Please.” he wants to say. He tips to the side, his pathetic grip releasing Zoro. Desperation invades his lungs, pushes up his throat. He’s suffocating, his conscience is fading away.  
“I love you.” he tries to whisper.

He doesn’t feel his body hit the ground. Zoro’s name resonates in his head like a plea. Then darkness takes over.

**Author's Note:**

> The concept for this piece came to me quite some time before I even started writing fanfic, and it aligned well with the prompt; but, as you can see from the time skip, the execution was fucking excruciating. I guess I just had to wait for the right(?) moment.  
> I hope at least you guys got something out of this <3


End file.
